


Try, Try Again

by chibiMuffin999



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Changing History, Family Feels, Ratings: PG, Swearing, domestic abuse implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:27:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25839586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibiMuffin999/pseuds/chibiMuffin999
Summary: A time wish is a precious thing. What would you do with the chance to go back and fix your biggest mistake?
Comments: 30
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

The wind wailed over the bow of the Stan o’ War II, anchored off the eastern coast of Greenland. According to the alarm clock hanging above his bunk, it was 3:41 am local time.

Ford set down the notebook he’d been scribbling in and glanced at the lower bunk, heaped over with tangled sheets and a ratty quilt. Stan was face down in it, snoring for all he was worth. The burns from their latest creature encounter were peeking out from beneath the edges of the dressing on his bicep, fresh from only a few days ago.  
Ford sighed softly under his breath. Not for the first time, he thought back to all the times Stan had taken a beating over the years, and just … muddled through. He hadn’t had anyone to hold the gauze or splint the breaks. He’d just…. survived. Things hadn’t been easy for either of them, it was true. But at the end of the day, one of them had still had family to fall back on and the other hadn’t.

Stan snorted and rolled over, itching idly at his bandages before coasting off into dreams again. Ford stood up and shrugged into his jacket. It was as good a cue as any to get moving. He didn’t have all night.

The air above deck was cold and biting. Stars littered the sky like some poor trusting soul had given Mabel a jar of glitter and turned her loose. He smiled at that image... She’d like it…. he’d have to tell her about it when he saw her over the summer.

Ford allowed himself a few minutes to drink it all in, leaning on folded arms as he stared out into the darkness. It was really quite beautiful here. The stark clear night, a sparkling sea of stars, the dark writhing mass of sea dancing around the hull. He had to admit, it was more or less everything he’d always hoped adventuring with Stanley would be. Stan was even getting to be a little less of a hot-head lately, which Ford honestly wasn’t sure he’d ever be used to.

He waited a little longer. When the night stayed still and the only sounds were his own breathing and the groan of the wind tugging at sails overhead, he was satisfied that he hadn’t woken his twin. Time to get down to the business at hand, then.  
Crouching down, he pushed aside some very technical looking crates that he knew Stan wouldn’t be interested in, and retrieved the box from its hiding place near the stern. 

The box was jet black, and smooth as glass. He’d fashioned it specifically for this purpose and designed the lock himself. It was made from materials scrounged from the extraterrestrial ship under Gravity Falls and sealed at a center seam so tight that it was invisible to the naked eye.  
The embedded combination pad on top was the only way in. He’d made sure of that -testing it thoroughly with acids, explosives, and a dizzying array of prying devices whenever he could find a moment alone over the previous summer. The testing phase had taken ages, but Ford couldn’t afford any mistakes. The container had to be secure when something this dangerous was involved.

Ford had also spent ages agonizing over how to use the thing inside properly. He’d spent many a sleepless night poring over the potential, the limitations, the capabilities, the risks. He would only have one chance to get this right.

Licking his lips, Ford entered the 20 digit combination entirely on auto-pilot. He was more nervous than expected… flighty and fidgety. A mechanism inside the box whirred and clicked. The lid popped free in his hands with a faint puff of air. A softball sized orb hovered a few inches off the bottom of the box, glowing softly. He stared down at it, not for the first time. The thing reminded him of an old incandescent bulb, more than anything… though perhaps a bit glitzier. Veins of gold light danced over the surface, shimmering and disappearing seemingly at random. An infinity symbol wobbled in the center of the ball, as if suspended in water. 

Dipper – the only one he’d told about his plans - had stressed that these things were impossibly rare and normally only won in gladiatorial combat. …But having to shoot his own brother in the face with a brain erasing beam to prevent the end of the universe was pretty comparable, if you thought about it, and -… **_No_** _. No. Stop it. Do not think about that. Do not remember Stan’s blank eyes. **DO NOT** think about Bill._

He shook his head hard to clear it. The last thing he needed tonight was a panic-attack. _Deep breaths. **Deep breaths.** He can’t hurt you now. He can’t hurt anyone._  
  
When he’d leveled out again, Ford felt a brief impulse to check his notes, to be _sure_ that he’d calculated this right – but he shook that off too. He needed to act before he could lose his nerve again like he had last night… and the night before that, and the night before that… Sooner or later Stan was going to notice him disappearing at night. Sooner or later he was going to have to explain what he was doing out here at ass-o’clock in the morning, and then he’d never get a chance to actually do it…  
  
Besides, he’d checked and triple checked the figures less than an hour ago – and recalculated everything from scratch at least six times yesterday. Any more checking and he’d have to admit that he was stalling. That he was scared. There was no more time to be scared. He’d been scared all his life. Now it was time to be brave.

He reached out a trembling six-fingered hand and took a deep breath. “As Stanley likes to say… Here goes nothing.” 

The next instant, his fingertips had grasped the orb, and everything exploded.


	2. Chapter 2

“-So until _you_ make us a fortune, you’re not welcome -!“ Filbrick Pines’ voice hit him like a fist as the world rushed back into focus. He’d forgotten how violent even his father’s voice could be.

Ford shook his head, trying to get his bearings. It was dark and the air smelled of trash and old fish. _There_. There they were, across the street. And there he was, up in the window… just watching it happen.

 ** _Well, not this time.  
  
_** Before he could hesitate, Ford was moving. Between one breath and the next, he’d pushed off of the curb and in between his father and a 17 year old Stanley, intercepting the overstuffed duffle-bag that a very startled Filbrick had just thrown at his son. Stan was still sitting on the pavement where he’d fallen. He stared open-mouthed between the stranger and his father, uncertain if he was being rescued or mugged.

Ford looped the bag over one shoulder and turned to help his brother to his feet. After a moment of hesitation, Stan accepted the offered hand up. He’d just regained his footing when he suddenly froze and jerked away, dropping the hand like it had burned him. _S-six?_ Stan’s mouth worked, but no sound came out.

Ford chose to pretend he hadn’t noticed. “You’re not going to need this tonight, Stanley,” he remarked lightly, jostling the duffle bag draped across his back. He was a bit surprised at how even his voice sounded. “Why don’t you go back inside?” Ford turned cold eyes to his father. “Mr. Pines and I need to talk.”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing-…?!" Filbrick snarled. His seething anger slowly transitioned to suspicion as he looked over this intruder. It was hard to see the guy properly, half shadowed under the dim, flickering porch lights. Something was off about him, but Filbrick couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was…

Ford glanced back over his shoulder. Stan still stood rooted uncertainly to the sidewalk. He was obviously scared and confused- torn between getting the hell out of here and fear that he’d never be able to come back.

Filbrick scowled, expression darkening further. “… What the hell **_are_** you doing here, anyway?”

It was time to move things indoors, Ford decided. “You and I need to talk,” he repeated, pushing his way past his father and into the house. Planting his shoulder firmly between an incensed Filbrick and the doorway, he dropped Stan’s duffle just inside. “Stanley. Go upstairs.”

Stan’s indecision abruptly vanished. He dodged around them and disappeared up the stairs like a shot, snatching his bag on the way. In typical Stan fashion, despite having absolutely no idea what was happening, as long as the way was clear he wasn’t sticking around to ask questions.

“Wha- HEY! YOU GET BACK HERE!” Filbrick bellowed, struggling. He fumed and pushed, refusing to be thwarted - but the stranger was still in his way and Stan was already out of sight. Furious, Filbrick rounded on the mystery man.

“I DON’T KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU ARE-“ Filbrick roared, trying to shove the stranger back out the door. “-BUT NOBODY TREATS FILBRICK PINES LIKE THIS IN HIS OWN HOME!”

Filbrick had gotten his bearings just enough to know that the balance of power had tipped, and he didn’t like it. Unfortunately, he was a lot more used to facing teenagers than grown men. He took a wild swing at the stranger’s face, but the man dodged nimbly out of reach, snatched him by the wrist, and yanked. Filbrick yelped and stumbled. A foot swept his ankles, and he dropped heavily onto his backside in a heap.  
The stranger pressed the front door firmly shut with one foot, never taking his eyes off Filbrick’s face. Filbrick began to sweat.

The stranger didn’t appear to notice. “Don’t be ridiculous.” The man calmly peeled off one black leather glove. “You know who I am.”

Ford held up his bare hand and wiggled all six fingers at his father in the cutsesy little wave that Mabel had taught him this past summer. He supposed his grin probably looked more manic than it needed to- but then he hadn’t planned on this being a particularly subtle visit anyway.

Filbrick’s face went chalk white. _It wasn’t possible._

He glanced at the staircase, then back at this apparition that couldn’t possibly be his son. Ford was… Ford was definitely upstairs, where he’d gone after the incident with Stan. … Besides, Ford was a good boy. He didn’t talk back, and he certainly didn’t know…. jujitsu or whatever it was this guy was using. He also wasn’t a middle-aged nut-job…  
Filbrick looked up into the man’s face. It certainly _could_ be one of his boys, at least in a couple decades, but that… that still just didn’t add up…

The stranger… The NotFord met his eyes with chilling indifference. Filbrick swallowed hard. “Right,” The NotFord nodded, apparently satisfied. He gestured to the living room. “As I said: we need to talk. _Now_. Go. Sit.” Still dazed and more than a little terrified, Filbrick woodenly obeyed.


	3. Chapter 3

Stanley skidded awkwardly to a stop as he rounded the landing, panting and out of breath. He’d nearly slammed headfirst into his twin, unexpectedly lurking at the top of the stairs. This Ford looked properly seventeen, and deeply shaken. He was clutching the banister with both hands.  
“What-what’s going on? Who the heck _is_ that guy?” Ford’s voice cracked. “Why did he attack dad? What did you _do_?!”

“ME?” Stan snapped. “How should I know?! Case you forgot, _I_ was busy gettin’ my ass thrown out! _Thanks a lot_ for helpin’ me out there, by the way.”

Ford huffed and glared daggers, but he didn’t answer. Stan stomped past him and dropped down beside their bedroom door. Now that he was inside and had a moment to breathe, the anger abruptly drained away. He suddenly felt hollowed out and exhausted. Realizing he’d developed a death grip on the duffle-bag, he shoved it aside. The events of the night were beginning to sink in.

“Fuck’s sake…” Stan whispered. “…He was really gonna do it.” He drew his knees up to his chest and hunched in on himself. Ford refused to look at him. They both knew Stan had nowhere to go.  
“I was… I was never gonna see you, or Mom… or… or even _Shermie_ again.” Stan started to shake, taking raggedy gulping breaths. Ford finally glanced at him, wavering momentarily… But no, it was too much. He couldn’t let it go that easily. He scraped at a nick in the faded paint. 

“Like you’d care.”

Ford regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. Stan looked like he’d just been punched in the gut. But now that Ford had started, he couldn’t seem to stop.

“You- You only ever think about yourself,” he growled, rounding on Stan. “Do you even… even _consider_ any of us? You ruined my _one_ chance to go to a good school, Stanley - to have a real future. My **_one chance_**. And FOR WHAT?! FOR SOME TREASURE HUNTER **FANTASY** WE HAD WHEN WE WERE TWELVE?!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO **BREAK** THE STUPID THING!” Stan was on his feet without realizing he’d moved, fists balled at his sides. “I DIDN’T MEAN To- to…” he hesitated, losing steam. This was all wrong, he could see that. … But there was no way to fix it now. “I-I mean… I didn’t want you to leave, sure, but I wouldn’t-“

“But you **did** ,” Ford snapped. He dragged his glasses off and scrubbed angrily at the tears forming beneath them. He didn’t want to cry in front of Stan. Not now. “You ruined my life and then you want to play it off as no big deal. Because to you it IS no big deal, isn’t it?!”

“ _Boys?”_ Stan startled and Ford nearly jumped out of his skin. “ _Fordsy? Are you ok?_ ” the voice sounded again, closer. Both brothers’ heads snapped around to where their mother had materialized at the top of the stairs, like a crimson-clad ghost. Her face was drawn and her mascara was smeared.

She saw Ford first, and hurled herself at him, immediately pulled him into a tight hug, clutching him like she hadn’t seen him in days. After a moment, she pulled back and held his hands at arm’s length.  
“Honey, are you ok? What is going on? Who _was_ that?” Ford shook his head – he had no idea. Caryn sighed, then turned and abruptly gasped as she noticed Stan. She ran to him, cupping his face in her hands. “Oh, Stanley, there you are! Thank god, you’re still here! I was so _worried_. Are you alright?” She dropped her voice. “…Did he hurt you?”

“M’fine, Ma…” Stan muttered, studying his feet. Ford shuffled uncomfortably. He chose not to meet his brother’s eyes.  
Filbrick didn’t hit Ford. Not his golden child – his potential meal ticket. Stan was another story. Stan was the screwup. Stan was useless. Stan was fair game.

Caryn rubbed the back of Stan’s hand and smiled weakly. “Oh…you- you know how he gets, sweetie. He doesn’t mean it….” She sounded like she almost believed herself. “Your father will settle down by tomorrow, and then we can sit down all calm-like and… and talk about things.”

“Wha- **_Talk_** _about things_?” Ford demanded, incredulous. “Ma, after what Stan did-“

Caryn wheeled around, eyes flashing. “ _WE ARE NOT THROWING ANYBODY OUT OF THIS HOUSE_.” She drew herself up as straight as she could and planted her hands firmly on her hips. She had learned better than to argue with her husband when he got like this. Filbrick had a temper. …But her sons were still her sons. In towering patent-leather heels, she was just barely taller than Ford.  
“Your brother _loves_ you, Standford Pines. And you love him. I don’ know what happened today, but I _know_ my boys. _Nobody_ is leaving.” Ford retreated a step, startled, and Caryn glanced back at Stan with a frown. “I’m not sayin’ Stanley didn’t mess up. …It … sounds like maybe he messed up real bad.” Stan flinched and stayed quiet. She returned her attention to Ford. “ _…_ But I don’t think it’s in Stanley to hurt you on purpose, baby. I just don’t.”

“Ma… Stan… _Ugh_!” Ford pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “I don’t want to throw anybody out – but… but he _ruined_ my _entire_ future! How am I supposed to feel?!“

“Stanley didn’t ruin our future.” An oddly familiar voice interrupted, making everyone jump all over again. The stranger had arrived at the top of the stairs.

Caryn froze, red lips dangling open in shock. Ford’s eyes were huge. He fumbled his glasses back on, blinked, then took them off and wiped them vigorously on his shirt. The stranger was still there when he put them on again.  
Stan slowly edged in between his mother and the stranger that talked with his brother’s voice, trying to look like he had any idea what he was doing. He risked a glance down at the stranger’s hands and abruptly remembered what he’d seen outside. _Six fingers._ Then he hadn’t imagined it. But… it _couldn’t_ be.

“We nearly ruined everybody’s future,” a middle-aged Stanford was saying, glancing at his younger self with a half-hearted smile. “Stanley is the only reason I’m still alive.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Earlier:**

“There's just no way he could- You _can’t_ \- It don’t make sense...“ Filbrick was muttering to himself, squashed awkwardly in the middle of a lumpy couch cushion. He hadn't dared move from the spot since he’d sat down. Ford could see him trying to do the math and coming up short.

“A lot of things you wouldn’t expect are possible,” Ford dismissed, tugging his glove firmly back into place. “But all that is irrelevant right now. I want to talk about you and Stanley.”

Filbrick shifted uneasily and coughed. “W-what _about_ me and Stan?”

Under other circumstances, Ford might’ve felt bad for his father. This was, after all, a hell of a thing to experience out of the blue. But then he remembered the look on his brother’s face just now, and any pity he might’ve felt evaporated.

“You were throwing Stanley out of the house when I arrived. ‘Not welcome until he made you a fortune’, if I remember correctly. But then, it was never _my_ project or _my_ future you were worried about, was it? It was _your_ future and _your_ prospects.  
We were seventeen when Stan left. I was too angry to question it at the time – I was sure he deserved anything that might happen to him… but do you know what I should’ve realized?”

Silence.

“Seventeen, Pa. _Seventeen_.” Ford paced in front of the couch. He was so angry he could barely form the words, even though he’d practiced this conversation in his head a hundred-thousand times. “We were still kids. Do you know how many ways Stan could’ve died before he made it to eighteen? I could list them for you.” The pacing picked up speed. “Do you know how many times Stan nearly _did_ die before he hit thirty?” Ford went on. “Do you know what he ended up having to do to survive? I don’t even know all the details, and it’s more than enough to keep me up at night.”

“Now hold on- wait a minute! Of course I don’t want Stan ta- to **d _ie_**!” Filbrick burst out aghast. He’d finally found something to latch onto. “He’s still my kid ‘fer god’s sake! …I just want the boy to make somethin’ of himself. Be his own man! Gotta see consequences or he’ll coast all his life.” Filbrick seemed to be warming to the topic, falling back on familiar screeds. He glowered at Ford and jabbed a finger at him for emphasis. “If Stan grows up to be some godforsaken bum, that’s his own fault. Could’a got a damn job like the rest of us. It ain’t my fault all Stan’s good for is pickin’ fights and gettin’ in trouble.”

The NotFord’s glare could’ve cracked stone. Filbrick wilted.

“ _Stanley_ is a hell of a lot smarter and more resourceful than either you or I ever gave him credit for,” Ford snarled, not bothering to hide the venom in his voice. “If you hadn’t told him he was an idiot his entire life, we might both have realized that a lot sooner and suffered a lot less.”

It might not have been elegant, but Stan had still managed to convincingly fake his own death and assume his brother’s place for over 30 years. He’d somehow kept his bizarre tourist attraction afloat, made sense of Ford’s rambling notes despite only having a third of them at the time, repaired the portal, figured out where to find the necessary fuel, and then, even more miraculously, gotten the thing running again. All this while hiding the entire mess from his family – including two very inquisitive 12 year olds with a passion for unraveling mysteries, living under his roof.

On top of everything else, trading places to trick Bill had been Stan’s idea. If the kids’ lives hadn’t been hanging in the balance, Ford honestly wasn’t sure he could have made himself go through with it. He almost hadn’t been able to pull the trigger even so. Every now and again, he still woke up screaming, remembering what he’d had to do.

Stan was loud, brash, crude, and impatient - but one thing he had _never_ been - was stupid.

“You tore him down every chance you got. Nothing was good enough to impress you.” Ford felt ready to explode. Words bubbled up almost faster than he could get them out. “… And I let you. Because for all that ‘genius’ of mine, I was too _stupid_ to realize what you were doing until it was too late. Not until I had spent almost 40 years not speaking to my best friend - over a damn **_science fair_** _project_.”

“Wha- _40 years?”_ Filbrick was lost again. “But…- That … that thing was your big chance-“

Ford cut him off impatiently. “No, that _thing_ was one meaningless invention out of thousands. I never should’ve pinned so much damned importance on it, and neither should you. It also had nothing to do with Stanley, but again: irrelevant.”

The same odd, annoying, bald man who’d given Ford the orb, had admitted to sabotaging his high school invention to protect the future. Stan had just been unlucky enough to take the fall.  
With Stanford attending West Coast Tech when he’d begun his research… having those resources at his back - there would have been no stopping Weirdmageddon. The entire universe would’ve paid the price.  
The orb, (he refused to call it a Time Wish – that name was ridiculous), had been a sort of compensation for all the suffering that sabotage had caused him and his family. …It was a lot harder to be angry about it from that perspective.

“What is relevant,” Ford continued, dragging himself back on track, “is that you’re going to make some changes to your behavior.”

Filbrick scowled. He was confused and he didn’t like it. “Oh yeah? Like what?”  
He’d also apparently decided that he didn’t have to take this kind of backtalk from his son – even if that son happened to be close to his age and a heck of a lot scarier than he had any right to be.

Ford loomed over him.  
“For a start, you’re going to stop telling my brother that he’s a failure and an idiot. You’re going to treat him like your son, whom you love very much. You are going to be the most loving, supportive husband and father in New Jersey. Oh and you will never raise a hand to Ma or any of us ever again.” He leaned in very very close and Filbrick’s rebellion sputtered out. “Because if you _do-,“_ Ford’s smile was sharp and dangerous. “- _I will know_. And if you _ever_ hurt my family again, next time I will forgo the small talk.” He flicked his jacket aside, revealing the hilt of the gleaming laser pistol he wore on his hip. “Is that quite clear?”

Filbrick swallowed hard and nodded. He was sweating again.

“Excellent.” Ford clapped his hands, abruptly stepping back out of his father’s personal space as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Well, it’s been wonderful to catch up, but if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go speak with my family now.”

Another weak nod.

Ford turned on his heel and strode toward the stairs.


	5. Chapter 5

“ _S-Sixer_?” Stan stared, wide-eyed, from the older to younger versions of his brother and back. They both turned to him – one still smiling, the other looking utterly disoriented. “…No way….”

“Trust me, it’s a very long story, and one I hope to have changed for the better tonight,” the older Ford answered. From behind him, Stan felt his mother’s hand squeezing his shoulder. He wasn’t sure if it was meant as reassurance or if she was just freaking out. He didn’t look back to check.  
“The succinct version is, yes, I am Stanford Pines. Yes, I am your brother. Yes, so is he.” Older Ford jerked a thumb at his younger counterpart - who was studying him intently like he was already writing a research paper in his head. With Stanford, it was entirely possible that he was.

“Ford?… If-if that’s you, honey… where’s your father?” Caryn peered around Stan’s shoulder, looking a little braver now. Her nails dug into Stan’s skin, but he tried to ignore them. “You didn’t do anything crazy… right?”

“Oh! Oh, no no, don’t worry. Pa is downstairs. He’s fine.” Older Ford waved the concern away. Caryn relaxed slightly and her sharp fingernails released from Stan’s sleeve. “We just had a very overdue conversation about some things. I think he’s decided to make positive changes in his life as a result. He seemed very receptive after I explained my point of view.”

“That …doesn’t sound like your father….” Caryn raised an eyebrow. “What’d you say to him? He’s usually so stubborn.”

“I’ve gotten very persuasive in my old age.” Ford shrugged noncommittally “He came around.”

Seventeen year old Ford was slowly circling his older self, methodically taking in the changes.  
“How is this possible…?” He wasn’t sure he liked the edges of several old scars that appeared to be creeping out from under the neck of his counterpart’s sweater, but the confidence radiating off of him _was_ reassuring. “It **shouldn’t** be possible….”

“That much I’m not allowed to explain, I’m afraid. Suffice to say, it is possible – and I’m assured it won’t do any harm to the fabric of space and time.” Younger Ford nodded slowly, accepting this, and resumed circling. He patted vaguely at his back pocket, searching for a notepad that wasn’t there.

Ford senior let him be, turning back to their mother. She was still staring at him, though with more wonder and less fear than before. He took a few tentative steps toward her. She hesitated, glancing at her younger sons, then slowly mirrored him, stepping out of Stan’s protective shadow. She stopped uncertainly still standing a few feet away, and studied Ford’s face for a long moment. Whatever she found there appeared to reassure her. She met his eyes and smiled faintly.

Ford had promised himself he was going to stay cool and collected while he was here, but he’d already failed that promise once. His eyes were wet, a lump forming in his throat. _To hell with it._ Emotional repression was something his father had taught him, and he’d already seen where that road led. He brushed at his damp cheeks and opened his arms. “Ma… I really missed you.”

Caryn nearly bowled him over, burying her face in his chest as she collided with her son. She squeezed him hard. “Ford, honey… I don’t know what the hell is goin’ on, but I’m so glad you found your way home.” She brushed at her ruined mascara - smeared down her cheeks - and huffed out a breathless laugh at how ridiculous this all was, how completely insane she must look right now. Then suddenly she stiffened and pulled back. “Wait a minute, where… where’s Stanley?” She glanced at her two young sons. “Like…the _old man_ Stan. Why isn’t he here too?” Her eyes flew wide. “…Did something happen to Stanley?”

Young Ford froze, wheeling around to stare at Stan as the color drained out of his face. It hadn’t occurred to him that actually _losing_ his twin forever was a possibility… not until his mother had suggested it. Fighting, sure. Not speaking, maybe. But just _gone_ had been outside the realm of possibility.  
Stan looked like he’d just seen his own ghost.

“Well, yes and no-“ Ford started, then quickly realized how bad that sounded when everyone’s eyes got wider still. “No! No, Stan is fine. Really. He’s ok.” He set his hands on his mother’s shoulders and tried to smile reassuringly. “Stan’s … uh… been through a lot... But he’s fine.” 

‘ _Fine’_ was a relative term, admittedly. They both still had old injuries that ached at odd hours, and deep traumas that would never quite go away. The worst times were Stan’s occasional memory lapses – when he didn’t know who or where he was. A few minutes of reliving the worst day of either of their lives… then Stan would be back – disoriented, but himself again. They were both ‘fine’ for a given value of the word…

“Wait… ‘through a lot’?” the Stanley in front of him didn’t look reassured. “Through a lot of what? Like… what, bad stuff happens to me?”

Ford sighed. “Well, if you had left tonight… yes. ‘Bad stuff’ would have happened to you. Surviving on your own was hard… you struggled. It is my sincerest hope that by preventing your expulsion tonight, you’ll never have to experience any of those things.”  
  
Stan slumped disconsolately. “Dad’ll find a reason to kick me out.” He stubbed his toes into the carpet, eyes vacantly fixed on the floor. “I’m screwed sooner or later…”

“Stan, sweetie, you’re not leaving.” Caryn broke away from Ford and pulled Stanley into her arms instead. He let himself be pulled, his head coming to rest limply on her shoulder. “You’re _not_ leaving.”

“I told you, Stanley, I talked to Dad. He won’t be kicking anyone out. He’s going to be a lot more patient from now on-”

Stan hunched further into himself. “Yeah? So what about when you go off to wherever you’re goin’ Poindexter? Maybe I screwed up your fancy West Coast thing, but somebody else’ll be bangin’ down the door. …What then? I just stay here and rot? I’m not gettin into fancy science school USA. Dumb as shit, remember?”  
  
Ford frowned. Right, that still needed addressing. “Ma…? Would you mind giving us a few minutes?”

Caryn looked down at Stan, still slumped against her shoulder then slowly nodded. “I’ll… uh… just …go check on Shermie. He’s prob’ly hungry….” She gently released her grasp on her son and started toward the stairs. As she touched down on the first step, she hesitated and turned back. “Look, Ford, honey…. If I don’t see you again before you… disappear or… or I wake up or whatever… be safe, baby. I love you.”

She’d vanished down the stairs before he could think to open his mouth and reply “ _I love you too._ ”


	6. Chapter 6

Ford was half leaned against his old bedroom window, stifling a yawn. He was beginning to regret that he hadn’t thought to add ‘and will be refreshed and well-rested’ to his wish earlier. He hadn’t slept properly in at least a week and with all the stress and activity tonight, he was starting to feel it. He shook himself and straightened up, pushing away from the wall. Now wasn’t the time to get sleepy.

His teenaged counterpart was pacing a steady loop of the room, and had lost all interest in studying him. Young Ford kept glancing at Stan who was dejectedly flopped sidelong on the bottom bunk, feet against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. He’d been quiet for a long time. It was getting unnerving.

“I’m not leaving you here,” Teen Ford announced abruptly. He dropped down on the bed next to Stan’s head. “I’ll find a good school in Jersey.”  
  
Stan slumped further until he was dangling off the side of the mattress. “There aren’t any good schools in Jersey, genius. You looked. You should get outta this crap hole while you can. I’ll… figure somethin’ out.”

“ _Stan_.” His twin’s upside-down face filled his field of view. “Did you not hear what … what I said? I mean… I’m still mad at you, but I don’t want you to end up ‘going through a lot’.” He held up finger quotes to emphasize the point, frowning at his older self. “Just the fact that you won’t tell us what that means makes me deeply uncomfortable.”

“I think you understand the general idea. Specifics really aren’t necessary… nor do I particularly want to discuss them.”

“Christ, and I thought it was impossible to keep up with _one_ of ya…” Stan muttered, rolling onto his stomach. “Look, I don’t want you to leave without me, ok? I said it. I don’t. … But… I’m goin’ nowhere. I don’t want to prove Pa right. …Don’t let me screw your life up, Six…”

“Stanley.” Old Ford was wearing an expression that Stan couldn’t quite pinpoint, but he didn’t like it. It was dark, and deeply unhappy. “I know some of the things he said - … says, to you. About you. They’re not true.”

“I start fights,” Stan counted on his fingers. “I can’t keep a job. I get shitty grades, I run around with a different girl every month. I never get anything right. Oh, and apparently my life was supposed to go completely to crap after tonight unless you magically showed up and bailed me out, so that’s fun.” He sighed. “Sixer, I’m a fuck up. You can just say it.”

“You defend the people you care about,” older Ford countered, ticking off his points to match Stan’s. “You’re seventeen and you hate being bored. You’re not going to have a career while you’re still in high school. And grades are a vastly overrated metric of intelligence. …Admittedly… I can’t speak to your taste in women. I genuinely never understood it… But no, you aren’t a… a-“ Ford had always disliked swearing – it was a big difference between him and Stanley – but _needs must_. “You are not a fuck up.”

“He, er _...I_ … _he_ … old-me has a point,” teenage Ford interjected, after a brief grammatical struggle. “I honestly can’t think of anybody you’ve jumped on that didn’t start a fight with us first. I haven’t been pushed into a locker since Freshman year, because the entire school is afraid that you’ll kill them if they try it.”

“Buncha’ jerks think bein’ a nerd or a couple’a extra fingers is a good reason to beat somebody up,” Stan grumbled. “I _would_ kill ‘em.”

“I’ve seen the lengths you’ll go to for your family, Stanley,” old Ford pressed. “I’ve watched you handle situations that would make plenty of people crumble, and succeed. When I was ready to surrender, you stepped up and you found a way out.”

Stan deflated again. “Yeah, so? So I’m good at punchin’ stuff and I don’t fall down easy. Big deal. Everybody knew that already,” he huffed, dropping face-first into the bedspread again, and raised one hand to point at the teenaged Ford. “Still a dumbass. I’ve been copying your homework since first grade, remember? And I’m _still_ just barely passin’.” He looked up at his brother beside him. “Sure, maybe Dad’s just mad and bein’ a dick when he says I’m stupid… but he ain’t wrong.”

“While you’re probably never going to be a professor,” old Ford acknowledged, “you may well be the furthest thing from ‘stupid’ I have ever encountered.” Stan rolled his eyes. “You need stakes in order to be invested, and school never provided that… but you’re much brighter than you think.”

“Look, I know what you’re doin’. But I don’t want your pity.” Stan picked at this thumbnail. “Who needs to be smart anyway? …I’ll find somethin’ I’m good for one of these days.”

“You’re already a good brother, Stanley.” Stan ignored him.  
Ford considered for a moment. This whole scenario was supposedly paradox free, wasn’t it? “- And one day you’ll be an amazing uncle.”

At that, Stan bolted upright, brightening. “Wait, wait, wait – _you_ have kids?” He grinned in spite of himself and elbowed the Ford next to him. “You’re gonna have kids, you big dork!”

“Not me, no,” the older Ford corrected quickly. Stan’s face fell a little, but Ford was unsurprised to see a look of relief flash over his counterpart’s face. He hadn’t fully admitted it to himself for a long time, but ‘wife and kids’ had never really been in the picture of his ideal life. “I was always busy with my research. Neither of us ever really… settled down. Shermie will have children, though – and grandchildren. Those children adore you.”

“… The kids like me, huh?” Stan murmured thoughtfully. “Little suckers.”

“They love you. And you love them.”

Ford discretely massaged at his eyes. A persistent ache had been building there and was threatening to escalate. He ignored it and adjusted his glasses. “I honestly don’t know if anything will functionally change as a result of my coming here tonight. Maybe everything and maybe nothing. But if I accomplish nothing else, I needed you to know that you were, are, and will be loved by your family. No matter what, you are always my brother. I …haven’t always been good at showing it, but …. Even when I was _furious_ with you, I still loved you.” Younger Ford punctuated this with a gentle punch in the shoulder. Stan smirked and socked him back.  
  
“… I made a lot of big mistakes in my life, Stanley,” Old Ford started pacing. “A lot more than I care to admit to. Some of them were nearly world-ending. … But the biggest, most damaging mistake I ever made was cutting you out of my life for as long as I did. I am here now to try to undo that damage.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a faded brochure. On the cover was an obviously staged photo of some students smiling way too hard into a camera, posed in front of a dilapidated library. One of them was ‘reading’ from an upside-down book. Another was gesturing vaguely with an astrolabe. He passed it to his younger self.

“Backupsmore?” teen Ford asked dubiously, flipping through the pages. He scratched idly at his chin. “I guess they do technically have a pretty solid library there… and the tuition isn’t bad. …Mostly-bug-free dorms _is_ better than the dog-sized rats I saw over at Glass Shard Community…”

Old Ford nodded. “This is where I attended when West Coast Tech fell through. Stanley’s grades won’t keep him out, either. You can go together.” He tapped several lines circled in red marker on an inside page. “I think these courses might be of interest, Stan.”  
  
“College, huh…? Heh, never thought I’d actually go, but sure what the hell. Le’me see that… “ Stan tugged the brochure closer. “Blah blah blah, … _Sales 101_ … _Art of the Deal, How to scam a scammer…_?” He raised an eyebrow. “… Are you tryin’ to tell me something?”  
  
“You make a fine salesman, but your pitch skills could maybe use a little fine tuning,” the older Ford shrugged. “Simply suggestions. You may find you surprise yourself with what appeals to you.”

“Hey Sixer, you think I’m a good salesman?”

“How would I know, I’ve never seen you try to sell anything.”

“He _y_ , lo _o_ k, t **h** e _y_ _h_ a **v** _e_ sc **h** _o_ **l _a_** r _s_ h **ip** _s-_ “

  
Ford shook his head muzzily. His younger self’s voice was sliding out of focus, and the headache that had been threatening had now blossomed into an aggressive migraine. He felt a little dizzy. Probably should’ve gotten more rest before he left, but he’d been too keyed up to lie down for more than a few minutes at a time. Still, he’d done his job.  
…Come to think of it, when had he last slept? _… Ah, right._ It had been days ago. He’d been running on fumes and the fumes had run out. It was time to go home, then. He took a slightly wobbly step toward the door.

Stan glanced up, whatever he’d been saying dying on his lips. He was watching his older twin uncertainly. “Uh… you ok?”

Ford put a hand out to steady himself on the wall. “Fine, just very very tired. Late nights are catching up with me. All-nighters become much tougher when you get older. If I suddenly blink out of existence, don’t worry about it.”

“-Wait, **_what the hell do you mean_** -“ the rest of Stan’s question was swallowed up in a now familiar explosion of gold light.

___

“Ooof!” Ford landed gracelessly on the deck of the Stan o’ War and stumbled sidelong before crashing onto his knees, bracing one arm against a crate. He rubbed at what would certainly be bruises by morning and straightened his skewed glasses. Not the graceful exit he had intended for his trip, but at least he’d thought to warn them before he disappeared.  
He sighed… it would have been nice to stay longer, but the intimidation factor he’d achieved with his father would’ve faltered a bit if he’d been caught napping in his old bunk bed - and then the entire trip would have been a waste. He’d done what he’d needed to do, that was what mattered. A quick glance at the discarded box nearby confirmed what he’d expected. The orb was gone without a trace.

Stanley, on the other hand – the current edition - was not. He burst through the door that led down into their cabin a moment later, bat in hand and looking for blood. The bat clattered to the deck as soon as he spotted Ford.

“ _Sixer_ you about gave me a heart attack!” Big hands hauled him upright. “What the heck are you _doin’_ out here thumpin’ around?! It’s like 4 am!”

Ford swayed a little, leaning on Stan’s arm. He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead his eyes rolled up in his head and he blacked out on the spot.


	7. Chapter 7

Ford surfaced slowly, blinking against the thin slivers of light that were forcing their way around the curtains across the room. He could hear Stan humming somewhere below and the smell of bacon was thick in the air.

“What time is it?” Ford fumbled for his glasses and notepad, but they weren’t on the little shelf where he normally kept them.

“Oh no ya’ don’t.” Stan’s head popped up into view. He patted his shirt pocket smugly, in which the fuzzy shape of the notebook was barely visible. Presumably, Ford’s glasses were stashed there too.  
“You were only out for a couple’a hours, Poindexter. Go back to sleep – ‘cause I am _not_ carrying you down here again if you pass out like an idiot.” He made a big show of popping his back as he returned to flipping the bacon. “You’re a lot heavier than you look.”

“Stop making so much bacon, then,” Ford mumbled, obligingly rolling over in his bunk and dragging a blanket up over his head.

“Wise ass…” he heard Stan grumble half-heartedly, before he drifted off again.

___

It was late-afternoon by the time Ford finally dragged himself out of bed. He stumbled over to the little fridge in the corner and cobbled together a sandwich from some mostly-stale bread and a thick layer of salami. He felt a great deal better than he had last night, but so much sleep after having none had also left him feeling groggy and half-drunk.  
Stan had apparently gone out on deck at some point, so Ford rummaged until he found his glasses, then helped himself to some cold leftover coffee. It was bitter and gritty, but it cleared some of the fog out of his brain.

Snack in hand, he headed up the stairs to find his twin.

___  
  
  
"Hey, look who’s not dead.”

“I would hope not,” Ford retorted mildly. “I thought angels were supposed to be pretty,” He settled in next to Stan, offering a bite of his sandwich.

“What, you think I’m not pretty?” Stan made a face. “That waitress in Oslo sure thought I was cute.”

“She was a vampire, Stanley. She thought you looked nutritious.”

Stan waved this off, picking a bit of salami out of the sandwich and popping it in his mouth. “Suckin’ face, suckin’ blood. Same thing.”

“Wouldn’t know,” Ford shrugged, chewing thoughtfully. “Though as a matter of course, I do try to avoid having my blood sucked.”

Stan snorted and filched another scrap of salami. He glanced sidelong at his brother. “So you gonna tell me why you were goin’ bump in the night? You usually know when to quit before you fall over.”

“Stan… Do you remember the night Dad was going to throw you out of the house?”

“Yeah. Come to think of it, don’t remember why he didn’t anymore. Suddenly started acting all weird and nice. It was kinda creepy.”

Ford hummed thoughtfully. “Nothing else stands out about it? Nothing strange happened?”

“… Why?”

“I’m glad you didn’t leave after all.”

“Even for _this_ family, you’re bein’ weird.” Stan sized him up with a raised eyebrow. He stooped and picked up a glossy black lid that had been lying beside his foot, shaking it in Ford’s direction. “And I know damn well this thing wasn’t here when we went to bed last night. So what’d you do?”

“What did you decide to major in?”

Stan blinked, thrown off guard. Then puzzle pieces clicked together.

“WAIT A MINUTE YOU BASTARD. THAT WAS YOU?!”

Ford smiled, savoring another bite of his sandwich. “Yes. That was me.”

“I thought I dreamed the whole stupid thing. How the hell did you pull that off?”

“Time Baby owed me a favor.”

Stan bluescreened. “… W-what-…?”

“Never mind. The point is, I was able to pay a short visit and I tried to make the most of it.”

Stan snapped his fingers. “Now I remember. You scared the shit outta me, disappearing like that. We thought you died or somethin’…” Stan chewed his lip. “Come to think of it, _I’m_ the one with the screwy memory… how come _you_ don’t remember my major?”

“I imagine the new past and the existing present will merge soon enough.” Ford shrugged, taking another bite. “I may not have fully synched into the current time stream yet.”

“Wait, this whole ‘messing with time’… - this isn’t gonna change things with the kids, is it? Like, they’re not gonna suddenly forget they ever met us?”

“I looked into that before I went, and no. It shouldn’t impact them at all. Besides, you’re already integrated into this timeline, Stan. If something _had_ changed, you wouldn’t know to ask about them in the first place. You do remember Dipper and Mabel coming to stay at the Mystery Shack for the last few summers, don’t you?”

“… Yeah.”

“And they were happy to see you? Big hugs? Mabel brought you a new sweater with a skateboarding dinosaur on it last summer? And you wore it even though it was ninety-five degrees that day.”

Stan nodded. “God I hate that sweater. Why can’t she be into making something else… like T-shirts or… or cookies or somethin’…”

“You could just ask her to stop making you sweaters,” Ford observed mildly.

“What and hurt her feelings? I’ll sweat in my dinosaur shirt like a man, thanks.”

“A wise choice.”  
  
___

  
Stan was quiet for a several minutes, looking out over the water.  
“… Y’know, you, uh… could’a warned us about the evil corn chip in a top hat, though.”

Ford abruptly lost his appetite. “No, I… I couldn’t.” His hands had started shaking. He put the plate down before he dropped it. “I literally couldn’t. It was one of constraints placed on my visit. In any timeline where I didn’t summon Bill… someone else did. Someone who he consumed. In those timelines… he wins.”

Stan absorbed this, then slowly, stiffly, nodded. He shuddered and tried to cover it up with a cough. “Screwed comin’ and goin’ with that asshole…”  
  
Ford closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. **Bill is dead** _In and hold. **Bill is dead** Out and hold. **He can’t hurt you** In and hold. **He can’t hurt anyone** Out and hold._ **_Bill is dead. Bill is dead. Bill is dead.  
_** After a few minutes, he trusted himself to speak again.

“Stanley… I am… I’m _so sorry_. If I could’ve prevented it-“ He abruptly found himself crushed into Stan’s shoulder as thick arms squeezed tight around him.

“Shut up, nerd,” Stan muttered. “You did good.”

Stan’s shirt, mashed up against his cheek, smelled overwhelmingly like cheap sunscreen and sweat. Ford almost pulled away, but… Stan was shaking too… He squeezed back, harder.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, knucklehead. …Quite literally, in fact.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a brief implication of a past romantic encounter of Ford's in this chapter. It's just for funsies, so you can skip it without story-consequence if you don't want to see that.

**(Bonus chapter, just for fun)  
  
**

“Hey… uh, Sixer?” Stan’s voice drifted up from his bunk where he was sprawled out, watching TV on a tiny portable screen.

“Mmm?” Ford was nested in his own bunk overhead. He’d been jotting down notes about his trip through time, so he was only half paying attention.

“Am I havin’ another brain thing… or did I actually catch you makin’ out with McGucket in our dorm that one time?”

Ford dropped his pen. _Oh god_. He’d forgotten about that. It had been experimental – trying to determine what, if anything, he was attracted to. As his closest friend and intellectual equal, it had seemed natural that Fiddleford was the most likely candidate to awaken something in him. While Fiddleford was quite a good kisser, ultimately that’s where it had stopped – even without Stanley suddenly walking in on them. In the previous timeline, he’d simply decided he had no desire to go further. In this new one…

“Would you be willing to pretend it’s ‘another brain thing’ and forget you ever saw anything?”

He could hear Stan sitting bolt upright below him. “Oh my god, _did you bang **McGucket**_?!”

“NO! I did not ‘bang’ _anyone_ ,” Ford grumped indignantly. “I was… experimenting. The results were conclusive, with or without your participation.”

“Ok, ok, sorry!” Stan appeared at the railing of the bunk, hands raised in surrender. “I know you don’t… y’know… do stuff _now._ But I thought maybe you used’ta…”

Ford sighed, giving up on avoiding the conversation. “No, I didn’t. I never did.” He set the notebook aside. “I realize we haven’t formally discussed this, but I have never wanted to ‘do stuff’. When you walked in, I was confirming that it was sex itself that held no particular allure for me.”

Stan rubbed awkwardly at the back of his head. “Ok, well high school makes a lot more sense now, but… why Fids? I thought he was straight. Guy’s got a kid, doesn’t he?”

Ford shrugged just as awkwardly. “To be honest, I don’t know much about his romantic preferences. I simply asked if I could kiss him, and he said yes. So… I did.” He fidgeted, picking at imaginary lint. “It was pleasant enough, but when he wanted to go further… I realized the idea repelled me. Fortunately, Fiddleford is a good friend. He wasn’t offended.”

Stan appeared to mull this over. “Good,” he said eventually with a satisfied nod. “That means I don’t hafta break his legs when we get back.” He dropped back down to stretch out in his own bunk again.

Ford leaned over the rail disapprovingly.  
“Stanley, we _just_ got your record expunged. Please do not break anyone’s legs.”

“They screw with my family, I’m breakin’ some legs.”

"Did we not just finish establishing that no 'screwing' ever actually occurred?"

"Ugh, _great_ ," Stan threw his hands over his eyes and pulled a face. "Now I'm picturing it. _Thanks a lot_."

"You're welcome." 

Stan glared at him. "Y'know, you are the absolute worst brother sometimes."

"Only 'sometimes'?"

"Eh, every now and then you're asleep."

"Ah, so the real reason you wanted me to go back to bed comes out," Ford nodded sagely. "It all makes sense now."

"Hey, remember when you were asleep all day and it was quiet in here? Good times."

"I can take a hint,” Ford shrugged, returning to his pillow and discarded notebook.

There was a brief silence.  
“You know I was kidding, right? About you being the worst…”

“I assumed.”

“I don’t have a great track record here, humor me.”

“Stanley, you’re my brother, you’re an asshole, and I love you.”

Stan snorted, and Ford could hear the anxiety leave his voice.  
"G'night, Six."

“Goodnight, Stanley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler, he's definitely ace.


End file.
